


we'll run side by side

by roboticake



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (I'm not well versed in tags), (i guess), Banter, Body Horror, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticake/pseuds/roboticake
Summary: It's Christmas.Jack Morrison expects some peace, not a wounded mercenary he is supposed to kill.(Christmas fic ! It's not as sad as it sounds.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Merry Christmas! <3  
> I know I'm supposed to write the final chapter of _better fate than wisdom_ , but I really wanted to write the dads having some well deserved rest (and a bit of feelings). 
> 
> As always, please tell me if there's anything you want me to tag, grammatical errors, or anything really.

 

 

Hot, dry wind; smell of spices; loud cacophony of cars and voices. During Christmas, Dorado was lively in a way Zurich was not, or more accurately, in a way the Overwatch headquarters was not.

Jack, walking briskly in an alley, couldn’t bring himself to regret the calm. After all, Christmas had always been a bittersweet paradox, in the Overwatch headquarters. Every single agent liked it enough to celebrate, of course, but the joy was forced, and the enthusiasm faked. Jack understood why –all of them were more celebrating another day alive than Christmas itself. Friends were also colleagues, _soldiers_ ; and a catastrophe could cut the party short anytime.

It was… Heavy. Uncomfortable. Angela pretended to not bring alcohol because she was convinced that “ _they didn’t need it to enjoy themselves_ ;” but everyone knew it was mostly because they needed to stay alert at all times. Reinhardt told stories about heroes of the past, that both Jack and Ana could tie with their own horrific experiences during the Omnic war.

Jack took a deep breath. He turned sharply at a corner, his steps quicker. He tried to drown his past and the festivities behind him in the heavy, regular stomp of his boots. The ground was solid, tangible under his feet, in a way his memories weren’t. The fall of the Overwatch headquarters made them a little bit fuzzy, a little bit confusing; almost like a dream.

Another turn. The alleys were now darker. Jack brought a hand on his visor, activating it and painting his sight in red and orange hues.

Since he took the name of Soldier: 76 and the mantle of vigilante, Jack had spent all his holidays alone, and Christmas was not an exception. Not that he really cared about it. He had picked up new habits over the last years: find a nice rooftop, lie down, admire the inky sky; let his mind wander and wonder, imagination fueled by a little bit of alcohol and a lot of nostalgia. 

Jack liked to observe the stars. Every year, he spent the last days of December in a different city, in a different place; but wherever he was, there was only one Moon and a single North Star to look at, and Jack felt at ease, at peace, whenever his eyes found them.

This year, though, was different. No rooftops, no stars. Jack was racing through a myriad of foul smelling streets, eyeing warily the buildings and their door. Another spin, another street, and Jack entered the old squat his informer told him about.

He stepped in carefully, wincing as he discovered empty cartridges of ammunition. He only took a couple of step when his visor revealed a familiar silhouette lying on the floor.

Jack squared his jaw; raised his rifle. He could shoot. He _should_ shoot.

“Reaper,” he said instead, voice tight.

He wasn’t sure what to expect. A trap, the muzzle of a shotgun shoved in his face; anything. He didn’t prepare himself to hear a scoff, humorless and distorted by weariness.

“Are you going to stay like that all night?” Reaper mocked, raising a trembling arm toward Jack’s rifle.

Reaper, the _thing_ that used to be Gabriel Reyes –Jack’s dearest friend and one of his most trusted men— was in a pitiful state. Weakened and seemingly alone, the tendrils of smoke usually curling around him were skittering away, as if trying to lead him away from the blonde’s presence. Jack swept his gaze down, studying Reaper’s face, small patches of scarred skin visible under the cracks of his mask.

“Having second thoughts, Boy Scout?”

Jack stayed silent. Reaper’s arm dropped in a dull thud.

It wasn’t the first time they met under the heat of Dorado. Their first meeting as Soldier: 76 and Reaper happened five months ago, when they were chasing the same person. One of them wanted information; the other, vengeance. In retrospect, Jack didn’t even know who wanted what.

After all, all turned into a messy, gory blur after he learned Reaper’s past identity. Broken bones and punches replaced words they couldn’t come up with, as violence had always been so much easier for them than feelings. They didn’t need to _think_ , they didn’t need to _talk_ , they just had to hurt and bruise until exhaustion slowed them down.

Last time, Jack was the first one to tire out. Even with his enhancements and his weapons, he couldn’t beat Reaper. The strange being –Jack refrained himself to think ‘ _experiment_ ’— could too easily slide away from harm, his body dissolving into an eerie mist whenever the blonde shot his Helix rocket at him.

And so, unsurprisingly, their confrontation had ended with Jack disarmed and weakened, blood oozing out where Reaper plunged his clawed fingers deep in his flesh.

Despite the violence, the wounds weren’t deadly. Reaper didn’t make _any_ of them deadly, consciously or not. Even when he rose his shotguns; when Jack closed his eyes and waited to be taken away by too many bullets, Reaper couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger.

Jack, too surprised, didn’t consider taking advantage of this lapse of control and Reaper fled, running away as if he forgot he could teleport himself elsewhere. _Gabriel_ , for a moment, was back; and Jack was so desperate to see his friend again, he didn’t think of shooting. At that time, his rifle was too heavy in his hands.

And now, again, Jack couldn’t pull the trigger. He lowered his weapon with a sigh. _Of course I have second thoughts,_ he kept himself from saying.

Maybe his thoughts were loud enough, because Reaper’s sneers faded into a heavy silence.

“What are you doing?” the mercenary hissed.

Jack ignored him. He crouched down, let his hands seek the shotguns Reaper liked to carry around, and, when he didn’t find them, carefully looped one of Reaper’s arm around his neck. The mercenary let out an exasperated noise as the blonde pushed both of them up with a groan.

“Are you serious?” he gritted, as irritated as puzzled.

“Shut up,” Jack replied, then asked, after a beat, “Who did this to you?”

Reaper’s claws tightened around Jack’s arm, but not enough to harm.  Around him, the tendrils of black mist even stopped to crawl away. They curled around Jack’s sides, steadying them both as they moved.

“I don’t know,” Reaper finally huffed. “Everyone wants me dead in this God damn city, anyway.”

“What a surprise,” Jack deadpanned with a roll of his eyes.

He pushed the door open with a kick, carefully maneuvering them out of the building. Beneath his broken mask, Reaper’s red eyes were cast down, thoughtful. Jack forced himself to look away.

It wasn’t Gabriel Reyes. It wasn’t his _best_ _friend_ , he firmly told himself, stubbornly glaring at the ground. It was just something wearing Gabriel Reyes’ face, parading around with it.

 _Why didn’t I shoot, then?_ Jack thought bitterly. Why didn’t he put an end to the horrifying mercenary that Dorado’s inhabitants dubbed Death when he had the chance? The first time he failed, he could blame it on the surprise, but now? He had no excuse. He even  _helped_ Reaper. What was he thinking? 

“Did you even try to help me, back then?”  

Reaper’s voice was bitter and harsh, distorted not only by the experimentations forced upon him, but also by the resentment he certainly kept bottled inside for _years_. Jack winced. His past could be a messy blur, but he knew what Reaper was talking about. The headquarters. The building crumbling upon them.

Jack drew a sharp breath. Maybe it was why he couldn’t shoot. He didn’t help. He _couldn't_ help.

Too busy trying to keep his memories at bay, Jack, for a long time, didn’t reply. He kept walking without a word, helping Reaper to move away from the trash filled alleys. It was only when they reached a small, deserted park that Jack decided to break his silence.

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t. When I asked, someone” –Jack couldn’t remember the face— “told me it was already too late for you.”

“Really?” Reaper snarled with distrust, his gaze on Jack. A small part of him was obviously eager to believe, to _hope_ despite his tone.

He only stopped to stare when Jack carefully made him sit on a bench and joined him, hands rummaging under layers of black fabric, searching for injuries to treat.

“Yeah,” Jack breathed out after a while, focusing on the gaping hole where Reaper’s stomach should be. The view was a welcome distraction, even if it was a horrific one: his visor and his own mask could hide his face, but Jack felt exposed, his emotions too apparent. He always had been too honest for his own good.

He cleared his throat and asked, wrinkling his nose as he gently prodded Reaper’s ribs, “How do you survive _this_?”

Reaper cackled.

“I don’t know how it works, but I don’t care. It’s not like I’m really living, anyway.”

Jack answered with a whistle, and fished out his biotic field from his pocket. He wasn’t sure if it would help, the mere idea seemed ridiculous. How was he supposed to heal a damn _hole_ in someone’s body with his pitiful unguent? Still, Jack tried, forcing the steel clutches of his biotic field open to scoop up a bit of the glowing, golden liquid in his hands.

Reaper snorted. Jack ignored him and brought the salve on his torso, wincing as he felt the skin jump. He gingerly rubbed the pad of his fingers around the injury, clearly not knowing what else to do. While it didn’t look better, wisp of black smoke curled inside the wound, filling it with darkness. Jack repressed a horrified shudder. Reaper huffed.

“Sorry,” Jack said, grimacing. He felt rude. “Not very used to this.”

The mercenary waved dismissively his hand. The red glow of his eyes was softer, gentler.

“That would be a problem if you were,” he sniffed. “That would mean we’re friends.”

Jack laughed, genuine amusement laced in his voice.

“Not happening,” he muttered.

“Of course not,” Reaper whispered back.

Reaper was already looking better, moving by himself and trying to stand up. Jack wondered if he really helped, in a way or another. Reaper seemed invincible, with his abilities and his startlingly fast recovery.

“You didn’t have to help,” he said, a clawed finger prickling the tender skin where the wound was a mere moment ago.

Before he could repress it, a disgusted shiver ran up Jack’s spine. Reaper pretended to not notice and added, instead, “That won’t change anything. Next time, be sure to kill me. If you get the occasion, of course.”

Despite his words, Reaper’s mask was broken enough to let Jack see how pensive he was. There was a slight, half-hearted grin tugging on his lips. Jack let himself _hope_ too.

“I will,” Jack said firmly. “But for tonight, how about a… Truce? It’s Christmas, after all.”

Reaper grunted. For a short moment, Jack's fingers itched for a weapon.

“Just tonight,” the mercenary finally conceded after a dramatic sigh, falling back on the bench. “And only because you patched me up. I _hate_ Christmas.”

 

 

 

Far from the heat of Dorado, Jack and Reaper were both under the heavy snow of Hanamura when they met again.

“Jack,” the mercenary said when he noticed the soldier, a startlingly polite acknowledgement.

“Gabriel,” Jack replied with a soft smile.

There was a pause.

Neither of them raised their weapon.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (I've been struggling with writer's block. I'm so sorry if my writing is not very good in this piece. I really wanted to make something better, but lack of time and... Well, I'm already late.)
> 
> Tumblr: roboticake.tumblr.com  
> Twitter: twitter.com/roboticake


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